


No Amount of Chaos Can Keep Me From You

by Gizzwhizz



Series: Kings of Nowhere [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Ignis POV, M/M, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 05:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gizzwhizz/pseuds/Gizzwhizz
Summary: Ignis races to save Prompto from death by poisoning.Takes place around chapters 14 and 15 of "Shadows Will Scream."





	No Amount of Chaos Can Keep Me From You

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize I don't remember who, but someone asked me for Ignis' side of things when Prompto was poisoned by the Naga in Shadows Will Scream so I thought I'd explore that to get my head back in the game. 
> 
> "You know before me, the people that we, were meant to be  
> But I'm only trying to be who I thought, you needed  
> It's killing the both of us, the place that we're in  
> All the things we've come to  
> No amount of chaos can keep me from you"  
> -"All Of Your Glory" by Broods

Prompto’s scream _hurt_. Ahead of them, Noctis disappeared in a flash of blue just as Ignis and Gladio reached the point where the tunnel opened into a cavern. The Naga was reared up with Prompto in her gasp, her mouth clamped around his shoulder. And he was still screaming. 

Then Noct reappeared and suddenly Prompto’s body was flying through the air, striking the far wall and crumpling like a puppet with his strings cut. Ignis didn’t even glance at Gladio, who predictably took off in the monster’s direction. His feet were already moving while his brain leapt ahead, assessing Prompto’s condition before he’d even reached him. 

_‘He’s most likely poisoned. The venom will keep a Potion from closing the wound, but he shouldn’t bleed to death. The poison…we have a Remedy, but will that be enough? No, he probably needs an Antidote.’  
_

And while this cool, calculated stream of thought ran through his mind, another more primitive undercurrent was beating through his brain in time with his frantic heart. 

_‘He can’t die. He can’t die. You cannot allow him to die!’  
_

Ignis skidded to his knees just beside Prompto, carefully avoiding his shoulder as he gingerly turned the blond over. Prompto’s eyes were opened but the sky blue irises were dazed and unfocused, staring unseeing at the cave’s ceiling. Settling Prompto in the crook of one arm, Ignis shook a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to the sluggishly bleeding twin punctures on Prompto’s shoulder. The blond flinched at the touch, but otherwise gave no indication that he even knew Ignis was there. 

Without taking his eyes off Prompto’s face, Ignis reached into the satchel at his hip and found the Remedy by touch, cracking it opened and tilting it into Prompto’s mouth. Prompto’s brow furrowed and a thin line of liquid trickled out of the side of his mouth, but Ignis only tilted his head back further. It took him two tries to find his voice, and when he did it sounded strangely far away, almost as though someone else were speaking. 

“Swallow,” Ignis ordered and at once Prompto obeyed. Some small part of him was quietly amazed that his hand remained steady as he slowly pored the rest of the Remedy down Prompto’s throat. It wouldn’t save him, but it might be enough to get Prompto back to Wiz’s ranch. Surely the old Chocobo rancher kept Antidote’s in stock for his birds. 

It wasn’t until the Remedy was gone that Prompto’s eyes began to droop. Ignis dropped the empty vial before it could dissipate naturally and patted Prompto’s check with only a hint of desperation. 

“No, no, stay awake,” Ignis begged. “Stay awake, Prompto.” 

Prompto groaned and forced his eyes back opened, though they were even more unfocused than before. The pupils were blown wide and his eyes themselves roved listlessly from side to side without landing on anything. He mumbled something that might have been a word, but Ignis couldn’t work it out. 

Or maybe he just couldn’t hear it over his own heart thudding in his ears. 

_‘Don’t you dare let him die!’_

“Stay with me,” Ignis tried again. Prompto usually listened to him, almost unerringly. Especially in the last few weeks. The blond was desperate to please him. So perhaps if he made it a personal request Prompto would try harder to stay awake. The tactic left a bad taste in his mouth, but Ignis used it anyway. Anything to keep Prompto conscious. 

“Sorry,” Prompto croaked, and this time Ignis recognized what was being said. His eyes had grown suspiciously hot and Ignis blinked hard to clear them. Then he noticed that Prompto had begun to shiver with increasing violence. Cursing under his breath, Ignis somehow managed to shrug out of his jacket without relinquishing his hold on Prompto and laid the still-damp garment over him. 

It didn’t seem to help and in another second Prompto’s eyes were fluttering closed again. 

“Prompto!” Ignis shouted at him, actually shaking him this time. It probably hurt, but pain was fine just now if it kept Prompto awake. “You have to try. Stay awake!” His own voice sounded wrong to him, cottony and desperate. Prompto’s mouth worked again, but no sound came out and when his eyes finally did shut he went utterly limp in Ignis’ arms. 

A dead weight. 

“Noct!” Ignis screamed across the cave. He was certainly screaming. Not “yelling” or “calling.” Screaming. Why quibble over it? The sound of fighting had stopped, so the Naga was dead. Ignis didn’t even look to confirm it, only scooped Prompto up and started back the way they’d come. 

Had Prompto always been this light, or was it merely the adrenaline? 

“How is he?” Noct demanded, jogging to keep up. Ignis dimly registered Gladio’s heavier footfalls following them. 

“I gave him a Remedy—it’s all we had. But it won’t be enough.” His voice was trembling. While his arms remained steady and secure around Prompto, his fingers were numb inside his driving gloves. None of it seemed quite real, if he was being honest. “He needs an Antidote. Maybe two. I…I don’t know.” His voice definitely quavered on the final admission. Ignis was never unsure of himself. At least, that was how the others viewed him. Even Prompto. 

But for all his training and attempts at maturity, at that moment Ignis didn’t feel like anything other than what he was: a scared 22-year-old. 

“Wiz will have some for his birds,” Noct said, echoing Ignis’ own thoughts. Ignis didn’t spare the breath to agree, but instead focused on keeping Prompto as still as possible as they half-ran back to the entrance to the cave. 

When they finally reached their birds, Ignis hesitated for an instant. Full dark had fallen now and the rain hard grown heavier, if it had changed at all. It was a slim chance he wouldn’t encounter at least one daemon on his way back, though the birds were fast enough to flee most of them and dangerous enough to put up a decent fight if need be. 

“Take mine, he’s fastest,” Noct insisted. The words startled Ignis from his thoughts and he wordlessly accepted the offer, settling Prompto at the head of the saddle as gently as he could. Noct’s bird was, indeed, the fastest and the most experienced of the bunch. Ignis wouldn’t realize until much later that he didn’t even offer a word of thanks, but only swung himself up behind Prompto and wrapped one arm around the blond’s middle, securing the reigns in his other hand. 

And then they were off, rain whipping in his face and clinging to his glasses until he was forced to rely more on the bird’s instincts than his own. The chocobo knew where home was, however, and raced through the rain just as easily as it would have moved over dry land on a clear day. Twice Ignis heard the grumble of a Giant over the steady beat of the rain, but a quick tug of the reigns was all it took to encourage to bird to make a circle around the daemons. 

Without a free hand to check his phone, he measured time in the patter of raindrops and the clatter of his own runaway heart beating against his ribcage. Ignis bent low, trying to shield Prompto from the rain as much as possible and hoping that his jacket was helping somewhat, but within five minutes he knew they were both soaked through. 

“Hold on,” he found himself whispering in Prompto’s ear as he steered them around the second Giant in their path. “Just hold on a little longer, Prompto. For me.” It was a ridiculous entreaty. Prompto couldn’t help what was happening to him—what the poison was doing to his body. But he liked to keep Ignis happy and so, insanely, Ignis thought it might make him fight just that much harder. 

He hoped anyway. 

By the time the ranch’s floodlights came into view, Ignis could hear Prompto’s teeth chattering and his skin was deathly cold. He pulled too hard on the reigns and nearly sent them both toppling off the chocobo’s back as it skidded to a stop in the mud with a displeased crow. 

It wasn’t until he tried to move to get off the saddle, however, that Ignis realized just how chilled he himself was. The cold seemed to sink into his very bones and made moving difficult. When he first swung himself down and off the saddle his knees buckled and sent him splashing down into the mud. Every joint ached as he picked himself up, but somehow he managed to regain his feet. 

For a moment, all he did was stand there puffing in the rain. He was afraid to reach for Prompto. Afraid that if he did his arms would give out and he would only succeed in dumping the blond in the mud as well. 

Just as he was considering his options, a light caught his eye and made him blink. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he watched the light bob as Wiz jogged up to them. 

“What in the world?” Wiz called over the rain, turning his light on Prompto’s limp form, still slumped in the saddle. 

“We encountered a Naga,” Ignis said. His own teeth were threatening to chatter and his jaw ached with the effort to keep them from doing so. “I gave him a Remedy but…” 

“He needs an Antidote,” Wiz shouted. “Probably two, by now. And you both need to get out of those wet clothes! Snakes alive! Here,” Wiz passed over the flashlight and Ignis accepted it with numb flingers while the man turned back to pull Prompto down off the saddle. He hefted the gunner’s weight easily and turned to lead the way back to his log cabin house. 

They squelched their way through the mud without another word. A wave of warmth hit Ignis that sent gooseflesh prickling under his soaked sleeves as Wiz kicked the door opened. He led the way through the living room, neither of them stopping to remove their soiled boots, and took a sharp left down a hall that ended in what appeared to be a cramped guest room. 

“You’re welcome to a warm shower to chase the chill out,” Wiz offered as he laid Prompto down on the bed. The crimson comforter only made the blond look paler. 

“I’d rather stay with him,” Ignis replied. He was aware the words must sound ridiculous as he stood there, dripping and half covered in mud, trying not to shiver. Wiz, however, only shrugged as though he’d expected that response. 

“Suit yourself. Strip him and get him under the covers. I’ll be right back.” 

Ignis pressed himself against the wall to let the older man pass and then stepped up to the bed. Incredibly, he felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he began peeling layers of sopping clothing from Prompto’s lifeless frame. It wasn’t that he minded seeing Prompto shirtless, which was exactly the case as he pulled the dripping tank top over Prompto’s head. Rather, it was that he knew _Prompto_ minded and, worse, wasn’t even conscious to consent to being seen without his shirt. 

He tried to tell himself the thoughts were ridiculous as he began working on Prompto’s belt, but they stuck in his head nonetheless. Prompto was going to feel ashamed of what Ignis had seen when he was himself again, Ignis was sure of it. Their few intimate encounters had taught him that much. As he tugged the waterlogged coeurl print pants off, Ignis silently resolved to ensure Prompto knew just how attractive he was. 

If he ever got the chance. 

Thankfully, Prompto’s boxers were merely damp and so in the end Ignis decided to leave them and allow Prompto a modicum of decency. He had just settled Prompto into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, when Wiz reappeared. 

“Pour this down his gullet,” Wiz instructed, handing over a vial. He set a second on the small desk in the room, along with a clean set of clothes, and then bent to gather up the dripping garments that Ignis had discarded. “Give it fifteen or so minutes before you give him the second one and, for Astral’s sake, change into them dry clothes when you get a moment.” 

Once more, Ignis forgot his manners entirely and didn’t even spare the kind old man a word of thanks, too busy twisting the stopper on the Antidote and lifting Prompto’s head from the pillow. The blond groaned senselessly, a sound that became a gurgle as Ignis poured the curative slowly into his mouth. 

“Prompto, I need you to swallow,” Ignis instructed the unconscious young man. The order had no effect, however. Ignis closed his eyes and counted silently to three. Then he set the half-empty vial aside and squeezed Prompto’s nose shut between his forefinger and thumb. 

For a moment nothing happened, and then Prompto sputtered and surprised Ignis by finding the strength to thrash against him, though not violently enough to actually break free. Somewhere inside Ignis was a very thin but very strong string—one that he hadn’t strictly known had existed—that was made of piano wire. And as he held Prompto’s struggling form down until he’s choked down the liquid in his mouth, that wire snapped and lashed back to whip the Advisor in the face. It wasn’t even until Prompto had gone still again and Ignis pulled away, trembling, that he realized his vision was only blurry because Prompto had knocked his glasses off at some point in the fray. 

“Let me.” Wiz’s soft but gruff voice made Ignis jump, but he backed away from the bed obediently. For a moment he warred with himself, hating the idea of anyone else touching Prompto just now while knowing he couldn’t do what he’d just done again. Then he heard Prompto cough weakly again as the rest of the curative was forced down his throat and he found he had to close his eyes and turn his head. 

For several moments he stood with his back to the wall, gripping his elbows and focusing on breathing. It reminded him of the breathing exercises he sometimes employed when Prompto was in distress. Just at the moment, however, he was finding it difficult to keep a steady count between breaths and for the first time he marveled at how hard Prompto must have to fight to calm himself like this. 

If he had to work even half as hard as Ignis was at the moment, then truly Prompto didn’t know his own strength. 

“I’ll be back in fifteen for the other one,” Wiz’s voice brought him back again. For a moment Ignis just stared at him, dazed, as he remembered with growing horror that there was a second Antidote yet to administer. 

“Get into them clean clothes I brought,” the older man ordered again. “They won’t fit you quite right—your limbs are too long—but it will do you a world of good to be clean and dry.” He patted Ignis’ shoulder kindly and left once more to give him privacy to change. 

It was several minutes before Ignis could find the will to move, however. He stood beside the bed, staring down at Prompto’s out-of-focus form. He was breathing steadily, at least. That much Ignis could tell. 

Finally, almost mechanically, Ignis retrieved his glasses from where they had fallen on the comforter and moved to the end of the bed to change. The whole time, he kept his focus on Prompto, ready to lunge back to his side if his condition changed. With his glasses on now, Ignis could make out the light sheen of sweat that was already beading on Prompto’s forehead and the way his cheeks practically glowed with fever. 

Wiz had been right. Neither the slacks nor the blue shirt he’d brought fit Ignis’ long limbs quite right, both ending too soon. But he had also been right that it felt good to be warm and dry again. Ignis folded his own wet and muddy clothes as best he could and set them on the floor near the door before moving back to the side of the bed. 

He sat and drew back the covers enough to lay his fingers against Prompto’s bare wrist. The skin was clammy and when Ignis found his pulse it was far too fast, racing like a frightened rabbit’s. Ignis tried not to think about it, tried not to picture how each frantic pump was only forcing the venom faster through Prompto’s system. 

For the briefest moment his eyes caught on the black ink on Prompto’s wrist. He’d never seen Prompto without his bracelet on before, though he’d snapped it off earlier when he’d divested the gunner of the rest of his clothing. It was a strange tattoo, similar to a barcode. He wondered what its significance was, but not enough to keep him from tucking Prompto’s arm back under the blankets a moment later. 

When he reached up to brush Prompto’s soaked bangs off his forehead, he sucked in a breath to feel how hot the blond’s head was in comparison to the icy feel of his arm. All at once all Ignis could picture were the arguments they’d had in the last few weeks. The look of shock and hurt on Propmto’s face when Ignis had roughly shoved him away after a drunken kiss. And what a coward he had been afterwards, lying awake half the night in the room’s other bed to avoid having to discuss what had happened. Trying to backpedal after making his own advances without even considering how damaging it might be to Prompto to embrace the blond one day only to rebuff him the next. Letting his anger get the better of him at the Disc and accusing Prompto of recklessness bordering on suicidal behavior. Only for Prompto to open up to him afterwards. 

Almost without thinking Ignis got up and went back to the pile of clothes to retrieve his travel journal from his pocket. Somehow, only a corner of it had gotten damp and he flipped easily to the page he wanted, staring down at Prompto’s messy, somewhat spidery handwriting. Compared to his own, one might call it sloppy but Ignis thought it was charming in its own way. 

_You are ugly._

_You are annoying._

_No one likes you._

_They all hate you._

_You are stupid._

_You are crazy._

_He doesn’t want to be around you._

How hard had it been for Prompto to write those words? Seven simple phrases, but Ignis knew he may as well have written them in his own blood. But, even so, he had trusted Ignis with them and he intended to be worthy of that trust. 

A whimper from the bed drew his attention. Ignis snapped the journal closed and laid it on the desk before making his way back over. Prompto tossed his head in his sleep, giving another pitiful little whine as he did. He might be hurting from his shoulder or suffering from some horrid vision brought on by the fever, but in either case Ignis reached for him before he could think, cupping Prompto’s hot cheeks in his hands and holding him still. 

“It’s all right,” he whispered, leaning in until he had pressed his own forehead to Prompto’s. He could feel the heat radiating off the blond like a furnace. “You are the strongest person I have ever met,” Ignis declared quietly. “And you are stronger than this. It will be all right.” Despite his conviction, his voice quavered on the last word and he had to swallow hard around a sudden lump in his throat. There were footsteps in the hall behind him and so Ignis wasn’t surprised when he heard Wiz’s voice fill the room as he straightened. 

“Looks like the fever’s caught up with him,” Wiz said as he set a basin of fresh water and a cloth down on the bedside table. He pulled a first aid kit out from under his arm next and set that down as well before going to retrieve the second Antidote from the desk. 

“That’s good, as long as we can keep it under control. Do you think you can manage?” Ignis finally turned his head to see that Wiz was offering him the crystal vial. “He’ll have worked up a thirst with the fever. He shouldn’t fight as much this time,” Wiz added helpfully. Even so, Ignis felt sick as he wrapped his fingers around the vial. He considered it for a moment before uncorking it and turning back to Prompto. 

“Just one more, love,” he murmured as he used one arm to pull Prompto up off the damp pillow, not even registering the term of endearment. “Swallow this for me and we can leave you be for a while, all right?” 

Hesitantly, Ignis pressed the lip of the vial to Prompto’s lips and tilted, but just as Wiz had predicted this time Prompto swallowed without any encouragement. Ignis nearly sagged in relief, easily administering the entire bottle. When at last he cracked the empty glass between his fingers and laid Prompto back down, Ignis found that his own breathing was steadier than it had been since they’d arrived. 

“Good,” Wiz sighed, sounding just as relieved as Ignis felt. “Now, where was he bit?” 

Ignis pulled the covers down to reveal Prompto’s injured shoulder and winced himself at the sight of it. The wound itself had grown far more irritated and begun to swell. The small amount of blood still leaking from the puncture marks was more foam than liquid now and a few of the surrounding veins stood out like angry lightning bolts on Prompto’s skin. 

“It looks worse than it is,” Wiz advised sagely, opening the first aid kit and beginning to rummage through it. “It’s the poison making it look so scary, but the swelling should go down in a few hours. Right now we just need to keep it clean and covered.” 

Unable to think of anything intelligent to add, Ignis only nodded and watched as Wiz wiped the foamy blood away with a disinfectant cloth. Prompto hissed and moaned at the treatment, but Ignis held him still as gently as he could while Wiz cleaned the wound and finally taped a piece of gauze over the punctures. 

“We don’t want to wrap them up,” Wiz explained. “It’s best to let them breathe, but we will want to check it and change that bandage every few hours. Since they haven’t shown up yet, I’m assuming your friends are waylaid by the storm. We can take turns if—” 

“No,” Ignis interrupted and had the grace to blush at his own rudeness. “What I mean is, no, thank you. We’ve put you out enough for one night. I can stay up with him and call you if it seems he’s taking a turn for the worse.” Wiz eyed him critically for a long moment, his hands planted on his hips. 

“Well, if you’re sure,” the old rancher finally said with a great sigh. 

“I’m afraid I couldn’t sleep if I tried,” Ignis replied with a weary smile. “Not until…” He trailed off, his throat closing before he could finish the sentence. 

“Until you know he’ll be alright. I gottcha,” Wiz said with another nod. He glanced down at Prompto and nodded once more. “There’s a thermometer in the first aid kit. Come get me if his fever spikes to 39.4⁰ or you see white puss in that wound, you hear?” 

Ignis promised and Wiz gave a final huff and gathered up Ignis’ soiled clothes as he left, saying over his shoulder that Ignis was free to help himself to anything in the kitchen if he got hungry in the night. He returned a final time with a glass of water before finally bidding Ignis good night. When the door clicked shut at last, Ignis let his posture slump and turned back to Prompto. 

“I should have listened to you,” he found himself saying as he reached to retrieve the washcloth from the basin and wring the excess water from it. “You said you heard something. You insisted, actually.” He gave a mirthless laugh as he began to wash Prompto’s face with the cool cloth. Unlike with is would, Prompto didn’t react to the treatment at all. With a sigh, Ignis folded the cloth over on itself and settled it on Prompto’s hot forehead when he was finished. 

“Perhaps if I had paid more attention…” He shook his head to dislodge that train of thought, however. It didn’t do any good to wonder what might have been, and Ignis had never been one to let himself indulge in that kind of wallowing. He had ignored it, and Prompto had been bitten, and this was the result. 

All he could do now was try and mitigate the damage as best he could. 

A few times during his vigil Prompto’s eyes fluttered opened as Ignis wiped his face or changed his bandage. But though Ignis called to him, his blue eyes remained glassy and stared at nothing, rolling past him as if he weren’t there before falling closed again. Each time Prompto failed to respond, to recognize him, stung, but Ignis swallowed it down and forced himself to keep murmuring small encouragements. 

As the night began to ware on, however, Ignis was finding it harder and harder to keep his mind occupied. He’d never been good at being idle, and though Prompto’s fever raged on, it never grew truly dangerous. Finally, unable to take the dull drag of time any longer, Ignis returned to the desk to flip through his journal once again. 

This time he kept to the front, past where he kept his recipes and into a section where he had begun to record his informal research into Prompto’s condition. Prompto himself had stumbled across an article Ignis had left opened on his phone a few days ago, but he doubted the gunner knew just how much information Ignis had managed to compile on the subject. Not all of it was useful and truthfully his notes were a bit of a mess, with information repeated as he re-discovered it from various sources. Really, if he’d had a computer and a few spare hours he’d have been happy to recopy the whole lot into a more organized format. 

As it was, however, he had tried to skip pages to allow for a bit of organization by topic and that method had mostly been successful. And so now, thinking primarily of Prompto’s recently lost pills, he flipped to his notes on possible treatments for reducing stress and suppressing panic attacks. 

At first he found it hard not to glance over his shoulder at Prompto every few sentences, as the bed was behind him when he was seated at the desk, but gradually he grew more and more engrossed in rereading his notes. Several sources had sited the very passion flower tea that the kindly doctor in Lestallum had given them, and it had appeared to help Prompto calm himself when he’d sampled it only that morning (had it really only been that morning?). 

Ignis had just reached the end of his notes, which briefly detailed a very interesting excerpt from a medical journal he’d found that posited the possible creation of a curative to help the body relax (“if such substances can help mend physical wounds, why not psychological ones as well?”) when Prompto gave a gasp behind him. 

“Prompto?” Ignis asked, already turning to rise. Prompto’s breathing had grown labored and he was blinking rapidly at the ceiling, but his eyes were a bit brighter than they had been before. As he drew closer, Ignis noticed that his face was a bit less red now too and when he laid his hand against Prompto’s drenched forehead he was relieved to find it merely warm and not burning. 

“Your fever has broken,” Ignis said with a relieved sigh. “At last.” He smiled down at Prompto, though the blond’s face was twisted in a grimace just at the moment. Then Prompto’s dry lips parted and he managed to croak out a single syllable. 

“Ig…” 

Ignis froze, feeing a thrill run through his entire body. It was all he could do to keep from crawling onto the bed as he bent to take Prompto’s head in his hands, rubbing his thumbs delicately over his flushed, freckled cheeks. 

“Prompto?” Ignis breathed again, barely daring to believe it. But sure enough, when Prompto opened his eyes again they were clear and pained and _there_. His gaze found Ignis’ easily and Ignis felt closer to tears than he had been all night. 

“I haven’t seen you in hours. You had a fever and it made you delirious.” Ignis shook his head and raised one hand to brush away some of the hair plastered to Prompto’s forehead. “I’m almost sorry you’re aware of anything. I don’t believe the poison has quite run its course yet.” The last time he’d checked the wound it was still inflamed, though the swelling had reduced somewhat. 

Ignis nearly had to bite his tongue before he could blurt out anything more personal. Now was not the time for intimate confessions, he chided himself. Prompto might think it was only because he was scared and he didn’t want that. When he said it, he wanted Prompto to know that he meant it. 

As he was schooling himself, Prompto shuddered weakly and managed to roll to his uninjured side, curling his from around Ignis as he sat on the bed. 

“Wh-where?” he asked next, even as he let Ignis reposition his head on a less damp part of the pillow. 

“Wiz was kind enough to offer up his guest room,” Ignis murmured. He reached for the glass Wiz had brought in earlier and held it to Prompto’s lips. “Drink. Slowly.” 

Prompto tried. He really did. He coughed up most of his first attempt and even after that he only managed to get maybe half a mouthful down before he was shaking his head weakly. Ignis would have liked to have seen him drink more, but he wasn’t prepared to force him. The memory of Prompto spluttering and struggling in his arms was enough to turn his stomach and so he set the glass aside without further argument. 

When he turned back, Prompto had shifted his hand out from under the covers and let it lay there palm up in a clear offering. Ignis forced himself to smile and took Prompto’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. Prompto’s entire body seemed to relax after that and he let his eyes flutter closed again. 

Ignis thought he was going to fall asleep again, but instead the blond roused himself once more with a visible effort. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. Ignis wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. It was a fair bet that even Prompto didn’t know. Most likely he had simply defaulted to it because apologizing seemed to make up about half of everything Prompto said, much as Ignis hated to hear it repeated so often. 

“Rest,” Ignis said, squeezing Prompto’s hand again and tugging at the covers until they covered his bare shoulders once more. 

“Wait…want to tell you,” Prompto whispered and Ignis’ blood suddenly ran icy. Prompto had to stop and clear his throat, but then he started again. “Been meaning to say it for a while, actually.” His voice was growing hoarser with every word and Ignis’ heart rattled against his ribcage to hear it. “Was afraid…” 

“Prompto,” Ignis whispered to stop him, because gods he needed to stop. This was too close to what Ignis himself had almost said. He knew what was going to come spilling out next and he didn’t want to hear it. There wasn’t a need for some…deathbed confession. Because Prompto wasn’t going to die. His fever was gone, after all, though he didn’t look better. If anything he looked worse; pale and drawn now that he was aware of his own pain. 

When Prompto opened his lips again, Ignis pressed his fingers against them, not caring that they were trembling and that Prompto couldn’t help but notice that fact. 

“Rest,” he said again. “Tell me when you wake up.” He tried to keep his tone light, but even so Prompto frowned. And then, as if a curtain had been drawn, he was asleep again. 

Ignis remained exactly where he was, trying to remember how to breathe. “Tell me when you wake up,” he whispered again. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Prompto’s sweaty forehead. 

As if breaking a spell, that act seemed to at last set him free. He drew back and then stood, leaving the room for the first time in hours to find Wiz’s small bathroom and splash water on his face. When he glimpsed himself in the mirror, even without the light on he could tell he looked haggard. Letting out a shuddering breath, he dried his face and made his way to Wiz’s kitchen. 

His hopes of finding a can or two of Ebony were dashed when he pulled the fridge opened, but there were a few energy drinks on the bottom self. He took one. Then, vowing to pay Wiz back later, he gathered up the rest. 

Returning to the room at last, the cracked opened one of the energy drinks for himself and set the others aside. Then he found Prompto’s camera bag abandoned in a corner of the room and retrieved the small packet of tea leaves inside. 

Once resettled at the desk he set the timer on his phone to check on Prompto in twenty minutes and took a swig of the energy drink before pulling his journal towards him once more and flipping a few dozen pages ahead to his elemancy notes. 

* * *

His calculations were probably off, but by the time full light was streaming through the open slats of the window blinds Ignis had filled several vials with his own curative mixture. It was something between a Health Potion and a Remedy with some of the tea leaves mixed in that had really just amounted to a lot of guess work. He had no idea if it would work, or if it did anything, and he certainly didn’t plan on letting Prompto try it until he’d at least gotten Noct to check his notes. 

Still, he was hesitantly optimistic. 

“Ignis?” a very quiet voice asked behind him. Ignis’ head shot up so fast that his pen skittered across the page where he’d been making a note at the bottom of an elemancy diagram. He turned and blinked blearily at the bed behind him. He’d never much cared for energy drinks. They made him feel like he had grit in his gears in a way that plain coffee never did and now he felt especially gritty. 

Prompto wasn’t quite sitting up, propping himself up on his elbows to gaze down the length of the bed at Ignis. His color had improved dramatically and though he still looked thoroughly worn out, he appeared merely tired now. Ignis’ eyes lighted on the bandage on his shoulder with its twin blood stains. Sometime in the last two hours or so the wound had stopped looking irritated at all and the blood had begun to flow freely and normally once more, something that Wiz had remarked was a good sign the one time he’d poked his head in to check in on them. Ignis, who had been a bit lightheaded with relief, had merely thanked him and asked that he relay the information to Gladio and Noct when they returned. 

Somehow he managed to push himself out of the chair without tripping over his own feet and made his way around the bed feeling half in a daze. 

“Were you up with me all night?” Prompto asked. He sounded so normal, bless all the Astrals. Still, Ignis held his tongue until he had seated himself once more on the edge of the bed and made sure that the fever hadn’t returned. Prompto’s forehead was warm and dry. 

“You were bitten about…” Ignis paused to count the hours in his head, “14 hours ago. So the short answer would be yes, I suppose.” He very nearly yawned but managed to swallow it back just in time. Prompto, meanwhile, looked positively affronted and tried unsuccessfully to struggle into a sitting position. 

“Iggy!” he admonished and reached for Ignis’ wrist. His tug was weak as a kitten’s, but Ignis let himself be dragged down anyway. Knowing Prompto was out of danger, the bed was frankly almost too nice to resist. Still, he laid down on top of the covers instead of joining Prompto under them. He did, however, gather the shorter man into his arms, pulling him close. He smelled like stale sweat and a bit of blood, but Ignis didn’t care. Just having his solid weight in Ignis’ arms was a balm on his frazzled nerves. 

“What happened?” Prompto finally asked, turning in Ignis’ hold until they were nearly face to face. Ignis sighed. His body was crying out for sleep but he tried to fight it off a while longer. 

“You remember the Naga?” he asked as he shifted one hand to run his fingers through Prompto’s hair. It wasn’t as feather soft as it was after a shower and he had to gently break apart small clumps of hair formed by old gel and dried sweat. He almost hoped for a moment that Prompto wouldn’t remember what had happened. Ignis would never forget, and that was enough for both of them, certainly. 

“The snake lady? Yeah. She bit me.” Prompto glanced at his shoulder as he spoke and Ignis swallowed, rubbing his fingers along Prompto’s scalp. 

“I gave you a Remedy but…” Ignis stopped, froze really. All at once he could feel Prompto as a cold, dead weight in his arms once more and he had to close his eyes and forcibly remind himself that the Prompto he was holding wasn’t too hot or too cold and was, in fact, _fine_. He blinked his eyes opened once more, relieved to find them dry, and forced himself to go on. “It did not help as much as I had hoped. The venom took some time to work through your system. Luckily, Wiz had other provisions.” 

Shame bubbled up in Ignis ridiculously at that and he dropped Prompto’s gaze. It shouldn’t matter how Prompto had been saved, but somehow it did. It mattered a lot, that Ignis hadn’t been prepared enough. It mattered that there would have been nothing he could have done if they hadn’t made it back to the ranch in time. 

He was dragged from his thoughts when Prompto laid his hand against his cheek. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. You saved me, Iggy. I’m fine,” Prompto said, pressing himself even closer against the Advisor. Ignis, however, gritted his teeth and wanted to shake him. 

“You are far from fine,” he bit out, shaking his head. “And I did not save you. I only delayed the inevitable. You…you were dying when we arrived.” Ignis had begun to shake as he spoke, trembling from head to foot. “Wiz saved you.” 

Prompto’s hand left his check and grabbed one of Ignis’ instead, pressing Ignis’ palm flat against his chest. He could feel the steady beat of Prompto’s heart under his palm and shuddered all over again. 

“It doesn’t matter who did it, I’m still here,” Prompto insisted. “Everything’s okay now.” That was a complete and utter lie and they both knew it. If it had happened once it could happen again, and not just to Prompto, to any of them. To his credit, Prompto seemed to realize the error to his words as soon as he said them, but though his mouth worked he clearly couldn’t come with a way to fix them. 

Ignis was too tired to bother with it himself, only shaking his head when Prompto whispered his name, so instead he watched the emotions flit across Prompto’s face, feeling exhausted and simply sad. Eventually Prompto released Ignis’ hand, but he kept it where it was, timing Prompto’s steady heartbeat silently. He closed his eyes as he counted, letting that small but strong flutter against his palm ground him. 

He was nearly asleep when Prompto spoke again.

“What were you working on?” the blond wanted to know. Ignis didn’t bother to open his eyes as he answered.

“An experiment,” he said simply. There was a beat and Ignis could almost hear Prompto thinking it over.

“Those are used to make Potions and stuff, right?” he asked.

“Correct. I was…trying to incorporate your tea leaves.” It was getting harder to keep his thoughts in order by the second. Try as he might, however, Ignis couldn’t seem to open his eyes again now that he’d closed them. The bed was soft and even with the covers separating them Prompto was so warm. And through it all he could still feel Prompto’s heat beating ceaselessly against his palm.

“You…were trying to make something for me, right?” Prompto surmised in barely a whisper. “You were trying to make…magical meds?” Ignis gave a soft chuckle at the phrase and finally opened his tired eyes again.

“I have no idea how effective it will be, if at all,” he admitted. “My Uncle tutored Noct and I both in elemancy, but Noct always had the stronger grasp of it, I’m afraid.”

For some reason that made Prompto’s expression twist and before Ignis could begin to wonder why Prompto was murmuring, “I’m sorry,” into the pillow.

“Whatever are you sorry for now?” Ignis asked, and for once he didn’t bother to disguise his annoyance. The last thing he had energy for at this particular moment was to assure Prompto for the umpteenth time that he had nothing to apologize for.

“For your Uncle,” Prompto whispered and Ignis blinked at him. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “Back in Lestallum I lost it over my parents and I never even thought to ask…of course you lost people too.” Prompto paused and then glanced up at Ignis through his eyelashes in a way that was entirely too endearing to be fair.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Ignis sighed and let his eyes close again. If he was being honest with himself, he simply hadn’t had time for grief. Not then and certainly not now.

“Nothing can change it now,” he whispered. “I knew what it meant when news reached us of Insomnia’s fall. But you still had a chance at hope.” Prompto moved in his grasp but if he said anything else Ignis didn’t hear it. The adrenaline had worn off hours ago and the energy drink had been more effective at giving him a headache than staving off his body’s inevitable crash.

If Prompto had more to say, it was going to have to wait a few hours. For now, Ignis drifted into a dreamless slumber with the feeling of Prompto’s heart still thudding away under his hand.


End file.
